Page 94 of Beneath the Stands (Sugarlake 2)

I’m here because I know Papa won’t be, and I just don’t have it in me to let Momma suffer in her misery alone.

She’s sitting in the dining room, ankles crossed, her peep-toed shoes hanging off her heel, tapping her foot rhythmically against the wood leg of the table. She’s staring vacantly into the flames that are turning the beautiful cream candles from sticks to stubs—the melted wax a physical representation of how her marriage has diminished over the years.

I watch her from the hallway, my heart twisting because she looks so empty. So broken.

So alone.

I relate to her more in this moment than I ever have before, and it turns my stomach.

Taking a deep breath, I walk into the room, sliding into the chair next to her, reaching out and slipping my hand under her fingers.

“Why do you do this to yourself, Momma?” I whisper.

Her lips curl in, and she shakes her head. “He’s just runnin’ late.”

“Momma.” I sigh, my chest wringing tight. “He’s not gonna show. He never does.”

She flinches from my words, but that’s the only break in her stillness.

We sit in silence, the ticking of the grandfather clock on the wall reminding us that Papa is shit at upholding his vows. At upholding his service to God. At upholding his respectability as a man.

“When summer ends, I’m gonna go to California,” I blurt.

I don’t know what makes me say it. Maybe it’s a need to tell someone who understands what it’s like to waste away under Papa’s thumb, or possibly I’m just digging for a reaction. A break in that impenetrable mask she wears like a shield.

Her fingers squeeze mine tight before she moves her hand, picking up her glass of vodka. She sips it slowly, her delicate throat bobbing with her swallow before she places it back down. Everything about her is proper. Pristine. Carefully crafted to put on a show. Even her sorrow.

“I always hoped you would, Rebecca Jean. You weren’t meant for this life.”

My heart stutters, and I couldn’t be more shocked if she took out a knife and glided it down my middle, pulling out my insides and gutting me on the floor.

“Wh–what?” I gasp. “You’ve always told me I’m doomed for this life.”

Her eyes flash, and finally, there’s a chink in her frigid exterior. “When you got nothin’ but time, you start to reflect. The years have turned me into a jealous, bitter woman. I’m not proud of it, but it’s happened all the same.”

I suck in a breath, sucker punched by what she’s saying. Momma’s word has always been my gospel, even when I didn’t want it to be. She whispered in my ear and poisoned every decision of my life. I’m not sure what to do with this new information.

I’m not sure I believe it.

Anger, sharp and hot, percolates through my heart, dripping into my bloodstream. “You’re really gonna sit there and tell me you didn’t mean what you’ve said over the years? That it was all ‘cause of jealousy?”

“Indeed, there is not a righteous man on Earth who does right and never sins.” She swallows, her fingers trembling over mine. “I’ve let down God in a lot of ways, but the one I’ll burn for the most is failin’ at bein’ your momma.”

“No.” I rip my hand from under hers. “No. You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to sit here, quote the Bible, and act like you’ve had some big revelation. For years you beat into my brain that I could trust no man, that I’d end up chained and shackled no matter what... you can’t take that back.”

Momma laughs, a sad, hollow sound. “Oh, child. Why would you listen to me? I’m an old lady who wastes all my days pinin’ for a man who can’t even remember that he married me twenty-six years ago.”

I cock my head. “You mean thirty.”

She frowns, taking another gulp of her vodka. “No, Rebecca Jean. I mean twenty-six.”

My lips pull down, creasing my forehead. “But I’m twenty-six. Y’all were married long before you had me.”

Momma sighs, patting the top of my hand. “Sometimes I forget the truth myself, we’ve been so good at lyin’ all these years.”

My heart stops.

“But I’m sick of lyin’,” she says on an exhale. “I met your Papa when I was young, dumb and gullible. I knew he didn’t love me. He never even took me on a date.” She shakes her head, raggedness inscribed in the lines of her face. “I was so enamored with him I didn’t mind much. But then I got pregnant.”

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